Interstellar Medium

Visions. There's a ranch house at the end of long, featureless road. Their are acres of land all around this ranch, tall grass blowing in the dry wind. There are curtains blowing in the kitchen. A warm cup of coffee sits on the kitchen table. A cigarette is burning in the ashtray resting on the steps of the enclosed porch. Their is a familiarity about this place that keeps me here. A pound of Earth inside you that speaks my name. Memories of our baby. We're tilling the land. Inside, the house smells like oranges. We listen to old country 45's as the sun goes down. It's always quiet. 'Speech is great, but silence is better' is the vibe here. No need for words. I know I'm home when I'm on that porch with you.

I've been riding around town at night. Late night marauder. There are certain qualities that become apparent in the night - Alone at night when it's all true, speeding downhill on my bicycle, neck-breaking speed... Where is it, what is it that is found in the night? Aside from the super cool gadgets that only Bruce Wayne can buy, what is it that attracts us to this cowled crusader? I'm all for conquering your fear, but I just can't seem to put my finger on the reason we all appreciate Bruce so much. And okay, maybe YOU don't like him. Perhaps you hate him. It doesn't really matter because at some point in your life you wanted to be like the Batman (I've known a few Selina Kyles in my day) Don't deny it, we all have. His stealthy abilities, his perceptive nature on the human mind - Yet, he doesn't even have any super powers. He's just a man, but also more than man - You can definitely count on his raging will power in the face of his parents' death. So, what is it that gets the heart pumping with excitement when we see the Bat-signal, or the moon, the stars in the sky?

From all woe, greatness rises.

I hold destiny by the hand

I lead her

She leads me

Together we are trying to escape the infrastructure

The catacombs of our doings

These decaying urban ruins

Destiny is easy to lose sight of

She slips free of my hand sometimes

And goes off to be with all the small, wondrous things

I am left to fend off the shadows

The demons that haunt

Who distort destiny

When the shadows pull her frown

I must run to catch my destiny

When she is dragged down

I feel like I’m paying for crimes I didn’t commit. But I KNOW the real crimes – common deeds and actions of the everyday…and I’m tired of having my sentience eroded by their incompetence day after day. I’m sick of being aware of every aspect of every action and mode of behavior in the minds of those that surround me. It’s soul depraving…and it robs me from myself.

I step outside my door - alone. I step out into another city block of their prison, another zoo, another forsaken, artificial habitat. Another day, another night; another stage latticed and engulfed in confusion. An external world that makes me feel ill-at ease inside myself. Forcing me to examine myself under a microscope.  Fast forward, Rewind, Pause - Seeing me through their eyes. I’m trying to keep to myself. I’m trying to do the things I want to do.

Mid week I regurgitate the thoughts in my head…every night I slave my health away; serving the ungrateful, bizarre and intoxicated alike.  It astounds me how they can walk through life without a shard of responsibility stuck in their conscience, move about without feeling or any class whatsoever.  Traffic passes by and sirens moan and wail in the late hours of the night, encompassing a feeling or a wavelength that is unnerving and surreal.  It’s amazing how they can all be so passive - and myself, with my abilities and cultivated brilliance, manage to screw it all up.  They walk around as if life were a novelty key-chain lanyard purchased at a tourist shop; hanging from their pockets when it should really be hanging them by their necks.  When one place things in a pocket, they are easy to lose…attachment, the ship’s anchor; is a unifying force with the power to stay and remember.

…But no one wants to remember anything anymore.  Too many things fucked up.  Too many machines to back it up.  Why do the math if a calculator will figure out the problem?  Even the ‘artwork’ around the neighborhood has become so absorbed, filtered and processed through the toxic killing machine of industry, media and socioeconomics; everything - everything has been reduced to state of oblivion.

THE MEDIATOR BETWEEN HEAD AND HANDS MUST BE THE HEART!

Saw an angel yesterday. Went to buy some gatorade. She was working the counter at a 7/11. The look she gave me I will not forget. It was warm and comforting. Like solar radiation. The first heartbeat of a life. I saw a very bright light. It was as if time stood still. Then the halo faded - I snapped back to reality as the register drawer slammed shut. Next thing I know it was just a girl handing me some change and the rest of that day resumed.

...each moment unimaginably precious...

May 10th, 2012 Walked home from the cafe today. A pretty girl on her bicycle smiled, passed me by hours ago. I see the bottoms of the gutters. My shoe's reflection in them when I step over the curb. My body aches from working graveyard. Exhaustion weights me down like an oil tanker full of lead. It feels good. Had to kick another bunch of transients out of the restaurant last night. How much shit am I willing to put up with? How many more nights am I going to do this to myself? In this uncivilized, desperate age, I have felt the distance between myself and the late night losers who frequent the store offset by the sounds of gunshots, coyote howls and sirens. I sit outside on my breaks taking it all in, swathed in cigarette smoke and still-born intellect from locals and students in the after hours of 3-5am. The pain of having to get a store ready for morning reminds me of having gone beyond myself, of accomplishing things I know I did and did alone. It makes me realize how stupid and petty the world really is. Who's gonna steal my tips tonight?

-Managing a small business.


I can't find her. I keep looking. I'm really just fed up. I want to test and see if my heart can be broken, the way a scientist tests their theories in laboratories - am I as passive as gas or as viscous as a super-fluid....?

This time of year has me thinking a lot about women. I like the ones in my imagination the best. The Imaginary Women. They're the women that I tell myself about when I'm feeling empty and alone. When I get home in the morning, dazed and tired of the sun, I quietly sneak into my bed, imaging the scenarios and transitions that would transpire. I put my arms around her in the kitchen. She's brewing coffee. I laugh because that is exactly what I just got home from doing... It works for a while, and now and again sticks for awhile, until I can drift on to other thoughts.

the cosmic lounge (ISS)

We do not determine Space/Time. We are conditioned by them and the Human mind cannot comprehend anything without reference to them.

El Cajon Blvd
University Ave
Those were the main two streets that ran down the central corridor
Of San DIEgo
Two narcotic filled arties
Two gaping wounds
From these two bowl ducts
You could get almost anywhere in town
Get almost anything
And still end up nowhere
Their intersections seethe
With rotting agitation
Like two parallel carcasses laid side
By side
North and South
Running East to West
Two bodies in a grave
Two bullets locked into a chamber
Cars fire down their barrels
At killer speeds
It was easy to get lost on those streets
Hung up
Left for dead
San DIEgo’s mortal tomb
Transplants
Junkies
Faggots
The used
And abused
El Cajon – 'The drawer' en Espanol
University -  An educational institution designed for instruction, Examination
Advanced learning
Well, I got all I could stomach
All I could ‘learn’ From those two streets
To see that The Gateway into San DIEgo
Leads strait into the mouth of Hell.